Myopic Friends
by naturaliste
Summary: Romance! Intrigue! Suspense! Crotchless Panties? Maybe not. Pure HenryBetty fluff written from a completely biased perspective and 100 percent based on wishful thinking. Set after Derailed.
1. Chapter 1

Strategically placing Daniel's cup of coffee in the crook of her arm and clenching the bag of bagels in her teeth, Betty shoved her way to the door of the train, sparing a quick glance at her watch: 7:52. Perfect. As the train came to a jerky stop, more people surged toward the door, but Betty kept her ground. She eyed the people around her in an effort to check if anyone dared to keep her from being the first person out of the train. The only person who seemed to pose a potential threat was a brittle old woman in orthopedic shoes. _I could take her_, Betty thought.

The minute the doors opened, Betty was suddenly blessed with the kind of speed that she lacked back when she was flunking her high school P.E. classes. To what onlookers could only identify as a metallic-toothed blur, Betty hightailed past pretzel venders and newsstands, the bag of bagels still swaying from her barred teeth. She jumped over oblivious homeless men, navigated through moving traffic without the slightest apprehension, ducked under faulty construction wires, and never once did a drop of coffee besmirch her almighty sweater vest.

As the Meade building loomed in the horizon, Betty checked her watch again as she vaulted over a loitering flock of Fifth Avenue poodles: 7:56. She cursed under breath. _I _knew_ I shouldn't have let that damn handicapped kid cross the street before me_, she thought bitterly as she maneuvered herself through the revolving doors of the intimidating publishing house. According to her calculations, a new elevator arrived every 1.5 minutes, and if she was just one nanosecond late, she would be forced to take the 7:57 elevator, which would foil her meticulous strategy. With this weighing heavily on her mind, Betty hurtled toward the elevator knowing that she had exactly 24 seconds to alter her fate.

Just as the elevator doors were closing, a satisfied Betty managed to stuff herself in between a flock of self-tanning-gone-amok interns at the last minute, and she breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief. She had pulled it off. The universe was in order. Her karmic equilibrium was at peace. She was Spartacus.

"Hold the door!"

The moment Betty heard the all too familiar voice, she was stricken with both horror and unavoidable delight. Only one person could leave her on polar opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, and he just so happened to be getting on the same elevator, which was _not_ supposed to happen according to her exhaustive planning. Still, she couldn't stop herself from noting that he looked as dapper as ever in his usual suit and tie, and along with this observation came the inevitable sweaty palms and racing heart that no amount of denial or industrial-strength anti-perspirant could stop.

"Good morning, Betty."

"Good morning, Henry."


	2. Chapter 2

Betty stomped into the office, making a mental note to revise her morning strategy. She weaved through the bustling _Mode_ office, ignoring Amanda's usual morning tidings ("Joseph called; he wants his technicolor coat back."), and juggling Daniel's cup of coffee along with his itinerary and phone messages.

Despite the endless litany of tasks she had to take care of, she couldn't ignore the pang of regret concerning her sudden run-in with Henry. It was the first time she had seen him in days, which was a far cry from last month, when it was quite common for them engage in spirited, wonderfully awkward conversations in the elevator. But in terms of their relationship's brief timeline, the blissful elevator period was B.C. -- Before Charlie.

It saddened Betty that their once blossoming "friendship" (although it always hinted at something more) had been reduced to nothing more than a civil office acquaintance, but what could she do? After the disasterous subway debacle in which Henry went home with Charlie, and Betty went home with a soggy pretzel, it was quite clear who each person was destined for.

_Enough moping already_, Betty shook her head and tried to concentrate. _You have more important things to think about._ She turned on her computer and glanced at her to-do list:

_- Interview body-doubles for upcoming 'Pregnant and Fierce!' spread._

_- Mail cheese gift basket to Rikers for Mr. Meade; conceal razorblade inside gouda._

_- De-tangle zebra-print thong from Daniel's ceiling fan._

_-Supervise Spring-issue photoshoot in Washington Square Park._

Betty sighed. Save for the last one, all of those could easily be taken care of by an intern. She glanced out her window and saw the ucharacteristically sunny day outside, a detail she had missed when she was hotfooting it down Broadway while trying to make her elevator on time. She decided that she needed a break from the Meade building and her Henry-induced pity party, and a few hours in Washington Square could be just the right remedy.

Just as she was slinging her bag over her shoulder, Betty gasped.

Unceremoniously stuffed between her ceramic turtle statuette and porcelain Care Bear paper weight, was her cutesy Graduation Bunny... _sans_ its cutesy bunny head.

"Not again," Betty moaned. She scooped up the raggedy animal and cradled it to her face. "Why does it always have to be the bunny," she lamented. It was then that she noticed a note hidden within the cotton-stuffed confines of the bunny. She unfurled it, and in cramped handwriting, someone had written: _Sooner or later, someone's head will roll._

Betty crumpled up the note and kept her head held high. This was not the first time someone had tried such underhanded war tactics. She delicately placed what remained of the bunny inside her purse, then proceeded to turn around, facing the rest of the staff as they worked at their own desks, and barked, "YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY, BUT I _WILL_ CUT A BITCH."

Everyone looked up curiously, shrugged, then diligently returned to their work, but Betty seemed pleased with herself, and with a blinding grin, she headed out of the office.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun shone brightly against the melting grey snow on the sidewalk as Betty left the Meade building. With relish she breathed in the signature scents of the city: carburetor fumes, rancid sewage, hobos in the midst of public defecation, rabid pigeons... and cucumbers?

"Hey, Betty. Fancy meeting you here."

Betty turned around to see Henry holding a substantially sized box of cucumbers. Despite her mental reminder to herself that she was a mature, card-carrying businesswoman, she couldn't ignore the subliminal phallic imagery that popped into her mind the moment she saw the pickled vegetables. _Get a grip, Betty_, her subconscious flared. _He has a girlfriend, and you have a... you have a... you have a illegal immigrant father, a tap-dancing nephew, and a headless bunny._

"Henry," Betty said, with an anxious lilt in her voice. "Why aren't you at the office?"

"We paid a guy fifty bucks to see how many cucumbers he could juggle while wearing nothing but a blindfold and leather chaps."

Betty raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, it's a slow day," Henry grinned sheepishly. "So where are you heading?"

"Washington Square Park. I'm supposed to supervise a photoshoot, and by 'supervise' they probably mean serve coffee and keep the Valium hidden from the models."

"Well," Henry replied, squinting as he looked up at the Meade building, "if you need some company on the train, I'd be happy to tag along."

Betty did her best to ignore the initial wave of excitement, especially since their last foray into the world of public transportation had not ended on the best of terms. The thought alone of that ill-fated night immediately brought Betty back to harsh reality. _What is he doing? What about Charlie? _Then Betty remembered that this was Henry, not Mata Hari, and he probably did not have any sinister ulterior motives hidden up his sleeve. Perhaps this could be the glacial-paced move towards an actual friendship.

With this in mind, Betty smiled, "Are you sure you want to keep Mr. Leather Chaps waiting?"

Henry shrugged from behind the box of cucumbers, "I don't think he'll mind. It's not like he's going anywhere any time soon."

And with that, they trekked off to the park in the picturesque Monday sunshine, completely oblivious to the fact that only a few steps behind them lurked a bearded man in a horribly cliché trenchcoat, clutching something that suspiciously resembled the disembowled head of a stuffed bunny.


	4. Chapter 4

The day couldn't be more gorgeous once Betty and Henry got off the train. During the ride, not once was Charlie mentioned, and neither of them seemed inclined to broach the subject. Instead, the conversation fell into a comfortable pace, similar to the days of yore before any inebriated lingerie models or hemp-weaving girlfriends could deter their budding relationship.

"_Mode_ isn't that scary after you get used to it," Betty said as they walked out of the eau de urine scented subway station and into the early afternoon sunlight. "Of course I was terrified at first, but if you don't let the backstabbing, dishonesty, greed, and occasional office staff infection get to you, it's not all that bad."

Henry laughed, "Most of the guys in accounting are terrified of stepping within a three foot radius of the _Mode_ office. They think it's a steaming brothel of models and crotchless panties."

It was then that Betty decided that this _was_ a move towards friendship because under normal circumstances, one did not typically use the term "crotchless panties" around a potential soulmate. This thought left Betty slightly crestfallen, but she conceded that it was better than nothing.

"It's like high school all over again," Henry continued half-jokingly. "You guys are the cheerleaders, and we're the Mathletes."

"Hey, I was a Mathlete," Betty replied, fondly recalling her days of ass-kicking during the International Mathematical Olympiad. "I had a TI-84 and everything."

Upon hearing this, Henry flashed one of signature sheepish grins, and in an effort to counteract the sheer adorable-ness of such a smile, Betty tried to keep her mind on grotesque images (her retainer, her decapitated bunny, Walter's idea of foreplay, etc.) but failed. She gave in to her weaknesses and smiled back, thus completing the lovely (albeit metallic) Kodak moment.

"It seems strange, being an accountant and all," Henry said, as they approached the postcard-friendly arch of Washington Square Park, "but in high school, I wasn't as much a Mathlete as I was an audiophile."

"You mean, you were into music?" Betty asked, trying to picture a bespectacled teenage Henry doing the Harlem shake.

"That would be an understatement," Henry grinned. "I couldn't sing or play an instrument, but I was a full-on, headphones-wielding record store geek. My life revolved around mixtapes and shows. I guess my freakishly accurate memory scored me points with my fellow music snobs."

"How did that eventually lead to a career in accounting?"

"You know," Henry muttered. Betty had a premonition that the taboo topic was about to surface, but she kept her mouth shut. "Charlie."

"Oh, wow," Betty tried to sound inherently intrigued rather than drastically disheartened. "So she inspired you to reach your fullest potential?" Betty cringed. She knew she sounded like a Lifetime Channel movie.

"Actually no," Henry replied resolutely. "After my college graduation I caught her in the back of some guy's shaggin' wagon with the toothless glockenspiel player from a Sonic Youth tribute band. That was when I decided that the music industry wasn't for me."

Betty did her best to convey remorse, but it was a difficult task, considering the fact that somewhere deep within the confines of her crocheted sweater vest, a choir of angels was singing.


	5. Chapter 5

As they walked further into the park, searching for any hint of a photoshoot --cameras, lights, an emaciated model, anything-- Betty's mind raced. _He's been cheated on... just like me! He's trying to make it work... just like me! He's slowly seeing the error of his ways... just like me! _ She looked up at Henry, who seemed to exude a a roguish charm that day in his unbuttoned pea coat. _He is undeniably adorable... just like... Han Solo!_

"I think we found the photoshoot," Henry gestured to a tempermental man behind a camera obscured by the usual flock of grubby vagrants that ran rampart around Washington Square.

"But where are the models? And the make-up crew? And the cheese spread?" Betty looked around frantically. She then took a closer look at a hobo and realized that he (she?) was attired in a pair of purposely scuffed Miu Miu loafers and a trash-strewn Marc Jacobs cape.

"Are you Mr. Meade's assistant?" The photographer asked. "You're right on time! Okay, Luella," he directed a model wearing a cloak made entirely out of plastic six-pack yokes, "try to be more destitute when you dig through that raw sewage this time. Less vamp and more tramp."

"Apparently we're doing the whole 'hobo-chic' theme again," Betty observed. "Those damn Olsen twins."

"I guess I better head back to the office now," Henry said. "I'm pretty sure those leather chaps must be riding up something awful by now."

Betty looked bewildered, then laughed. "Oh, right. The cucumbers and the leather chaps."

"See you later," Henry grinned one last time, then turned back.

Completely forgetting her platonic vendetta, Betty called back, "Henry!"

He turned around, and with a flushed face that had nothing to do with the weather, Betty said, "Thanks for the company. We should do this more often."

"Yeah, we should," Henry said without hesitation. He took a few tentative steps toward her. "You know, they're debuting that _Sweater Vests Through the Ages_ exhibit tomorrow at the Guggenheim. I heard there's an entire floor dedicated to synthetic fibers. If you're not busy, maybe we could go see it together."

"I've been waiting for that exhibit for months!" Betty gushed. "It sounds amazing."

The two of them were unabashedly smiling at each other, lost in the world of their quasi-friendship, when they were suddenly awoken from their pleasant reverie by a booming stereo. The photographer had begun playing music in an effort to provide an ideal ambiance for the models, and one song in particular seemed to wipe the grin right off Henry's face. It started off with a slow, calming melody, but the tempo quickened with the help of noneother than... _the glockenspiel_.

"I... hate... glockenspiels..." Henry muttered.

Betty put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I know how you feel. I can't even look at a plasma screen TV without getting the urge to headbutt it."

They shared a knowing smile, and Betty was suddenly aware of how close they were standing. _Is this seriously happening again?_ Betty wondered. She looked up to meet his gaze, and she chose to ignore the plaguing sense of deja vu.

Just as their heads were tilting in that pre-rehearsed forbidden dance, Betty's eyes were jarred open by a furry missile aimed straight at her head. The unidentified object beamed her squarely in the forehead, but it did little damage. Betty looked down to find the severed head of her beloved bunny.

"Are you guys kidding me?" a menacing voice sneered from behind them. "This almost-kiss melodrama is _so_ last week."

The voice came from one of the bearded hobos, this one in a sullied trenchcoat. In one theatrical move, the vagrant pulled off her beard to reveal the smooth and sinister face of Charlie.

Betty and Henry gasped, "Jinkies!"


	6. Chapter 6

"Charlie!" Henry sputtered. "I thought you were going dumpster diving today."

Betty marveled at the girl standing before her. No longer a frail flower child, she now resembled a harbinger to the apocalypse in her dingy hobo ensemble, completely furnished with realistic bruises and what can only be described as a rickety "pimp cane."

Charlie shot Henry a withering look, "And miss this? I may not be able to see the importance of two-in-one shampoo/conditioner, but I'm not blind. I could see you falling for little Miss Orthodontia for months now."

Henry was speechless, but in the grand tradition of evil villainy, Charlie felt compelled to explain in sordid detail her painstaking plan to drive a wedge between the two: "Ever since Christmas I noticed that Henry was different: he wasn't coordinating his tie with his sweater, he was listening to the same sad Pavement album over and over again, he wasn't showering ("I did too shower!" Henry snapped.). All of those were obvious symptoms of heartbreak, and it was during this period of depression that I began hinting at rekindling our romance. Of course in typical wishy-washy manner, Henry wanted to 'move on' and 'grow' and all that other Dr. Phil bullshit, but I could see that the idea was in the back of his mind."

Betty and Henry blinked at her as she paused to take a breath. They tried to speak, but Charlie threw them a look that suggested that she was perfectly capable of homicide.

"By the time Henry was back in New York, I was already shacking up with Leroy again. You know, that intergalactic hot glockenspielist. But when Henry called me, sounding as dejected as ever, I knew it was my chance to swoop in. When I got here, it was clear that he still had the hots for _you_ (she narrowed her eyes contemptuously at Betty), so I did what any other caring girlfriend would do: I stalked both of you, sent threatening notes, and castrated a stuffed animal."

By then, the entire photo crew had grinded to a halt as they were captivated by the events unfolding before them. Even the pigeons seemed to be paying morbid attention.

"Charlie," Betty said timidly. "Why did you go through all of this if you still seemed to find, um, Leroy... 'intergalactic hot?'"

Charlie rolled her eyes, "Leroy can't even afford a toothbrush, much less a decent dental plan. What do you think?"

It was then that Betty grew tired of someone always standing in the way of what she wanted, and with the same spirit that coerced her into ditching Charlie on the subway that fateful night, Betty soundly slapped Charlie, her hand reverberating nicely across the hushed park.

Charlie looked temporarily shaken but regained her composure, "Aw, is that all the tricks you've got up your little blue parka?"

Betty smiled, then proceeded to deliver her own rendition of a Queens-style beating on the unsuspecting lass. Harnessing the power of her handbag, Betty unleashed six months of repressed anger and spite as photographers, models, pigeons, and Henry looked on in revered awe. Hair was ceremoniously pulled, shoes were used as baseball bats, heads were mercilessly crushed between thighs à la Chuck Norris. Not since the days of Tupac and Biggie had New York seen such an uninhibited and wrathful brawl. Once the smoke cleared, all that was left of Charlie was a whimpering, disfigured cretin with a mouth that was now perfectly coordinated with her beloved Leroy.

"...and that was for my bunny," Betty finished with a flourish.

The crowd of spectators soon dispersed, and the photoshoot resumed directly over the toothless victim. Betty brushed off a few stray hairs and molars from her parka and looked over at Henry, who was standing with a look of bemused shock, holding the head of Betty's dear bunny.

"Here," Henry said warmly, handing her the bunny cranium. "I'm... I'm sorry you were dragged into all of this. Charlie has a long history of mental unstability, dating back from the 6th grade when she tried to gnaw off the leg of her health teacher."

"That explains a lot," Betty said whistfully. "So I guess the whole just-friends thing never took off between us."

"Which isn't such a bad thing," Henry mused, moving closer to her.

And with one sweeping,knee-weaking kiss, Betty was pleased to discover that her racing heart and sweaty palms were not phenomenons exclusively reserved for her.


End file.
